


Tactics

by DeathBelle



Series: Lockdown [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Blood, Brief verbal harassment of a sexual nature, Explicit Language, Graphic depiction of an injury, Killing, M/M, Violence, death of a minor character, prison!au
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-01
Updated: 2019-02-15
Packaged: 2019-10-20 11:34:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,866
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17621630
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/DeathBelle/pseuds/DeathBelle
Summary: Bokuto isn't cut out for prison. The other inmates aren't nice, he has no one to talk to, and he doesn't even think he deserves to be there.Things aren't going well for him; at least, until Akaashi Keiji becomes his new cellmate.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [AnnaKanezawa](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AnnaKanezawa/gifts).



> This is a flashback of how Bokuto and Akaashi met in Lockdown. There are spoilers for the main story, so if you're not caught up, don't read this part yet! But if you're not reading that one at all, this should be okay as a standalone, too.

Bokuto had been in prison for the better part of a month when Akaashi Keiji showed up. It wasn’t a big event. Inmates were shifting all the time, ferried in and out through a constantly rotating door. There was nothing surprising about a new inmate in their block, but there was something different about Akaashi Keiji.

Bokuto had never claimed to be smart, but he liked to think of himself as observant. It was the only thing that had kept him going so far. He knew which inmates watched him a little too sharply, which ones walked as if they had something to prove. Bokuto had learned who to avoid, but just in case, he’d made a habit of avoiding everyone on general principle. Prison wasn’t a good place for to him. He grew a little more hopeless every day, but so far he’d survived. 

He’d been relieved at first, when his cellmate had gotten sent to max for getting caught with drugs. Bokuto had worried that he would be implicated too, since they shared a cell, but none of the guards seemed suspicious of him. They hardly even noticed him, and he wanted to keep it that way. He kept to the edges of the crowd and stuck to the corners, trying to stay away from guards and inmates alike.

He’d known prison wasn’t a nice place, but it was worse than he’d thought it would be. 

He didn’t belong there. Many of the inmates said the same about themselves, and maybe it was true, for some, but Bokuto knew for sure he shouldn’t be there. He knew he’d messed up, and badly. People had been hurt; people had _died_. It had been a terrible mistake, and just thinking of it left a roiling pit of dread in his gut, but Bokuto couldn’t be properly repentant. He remembered absolutely nothing about that night. One minute he’d been at the bar, ordering another drink even though he knew he should stop, and the next he was waking up in a jail cell, the taste of blood in his mouth and bruises staining his skin. 

He’d only learned later what had happened when he’d blacked out. There had been pictures, passed around when he was brought before the court, his shackles jingling like morbid Christmas bells. He’d caught a glimpse of the crime scene photos when his attorney had looked through his file, and he’d immediately turned his head. There were bodies, broken and mangled, littering the street in the wake of a decimated sedan. Bokuto knew he’d stolen it, and that he’d ran it through a herd of pedestrians in a crosswalk. He knew he’d given a police officer a concussion when they tried to arrest him, and that everyone involved had been beaten up badly, including himself. He knew, because everyone kept talking about it, but he didn’t remember a single minute of it.

Bokuto didn’t think he should be held responsible for something he couldn’t remember.

His family was angry with him. He only knew that from the letters he received from his little sister. She’d been at court when he was sentenced, had given him a sad smile from the crowd and a little gesture that he interpreted as _I love you_. She said his parents didn’t mention him anymore, that they pretended he didn’t exist, and that hurt more than the seven year prison sentence. She said they would come around, with time, but Bokuto didn’t believe that. He thought when he stepped outside these doors in seven years – if he even survived that long – there would be no one waiting for him on the other side. Maybe his sister would still talk to him, but maybe not. He would be alone, just like he was alone in prison.

Bokuto didn’t do so well alone.

Akaashi arrived on a Friday morning. At least, Bokuto thought it was Friday. The days had started running together. He walked into the cafeteria near the end of breakfast and strolled up to the meal line like he belonged there. Bokuto, who’d made a habit of watching everyone and everything at all times, noticed him immediately. 

He noticed the name stamped on the front of Akaashi’s uniform, but more importantly the number, which marked him as an inmate in Cellblock Four. 

There was only one empty bed in their Block, and it was the one in Bokuto’s cell. 

Akaashi collected his food, scanned the room with a distinct lack of interest, and approached the Block Four table. Bokuto always sat with his Block; not because he wanted to, but because there was nowhere else for him to go. Akaashi must have already been familiar with prison customs. He took a vacant seat at the opposite end of the table and started on his food as if it was nothing out of the ordinary. 

All of the Block Four inmates stopped to stare at him. 

Kobayashi – the inmate with the buzzed head and the mean sneer, who liked to taunt Bokuto – opened his mouth to speak, but the inmate at his side leaned over to whisper something in his ear. They exchanged a glance, and Kobayashi took one last look at Akaashi before dismissing him and returning to his food.

Bokuto made a mental note of that.

It didn’t take long for him to realize that his Block was staying as far away from Akaashi as possible. Akaashi sat with them at lunch and dinner that day, but he didn’t speak, and none of the inmates even looked at him for more than a fleeting second. Akaashi went out to the yard for a while, but instead of joining the basketball game that was hosted by Block Four, he walked alone around the path. Bokuto, from his isolated spot at a lonely picnic table, watched him with growing curiosity. 

When Bokuto had first gotten booked in, he hadn’t been given a moment’s peace. He’d been teased for days, and if he was caught alone where the guards couldn’t overhear, he was still a target of the harsher inmates’ taunts. He’d thought he would have an easier time of it, considering his size. No one had ever messed with him on the outside, but clearly things were much different in here. In the other cellblocks, it didn't seem to be a problem. The inmates in Block One got along especially well, and he'd seen the guys from Block Two jump into a fight for no apparent reason, just to have their blockmates' backs. There was a spat in Block Three every now and then, but it was never anything too brutal.

Bokuto wished he'd gotten assigned to one of those cellblocks instead.

Since harassing the new inmates seemed to be a custom in Block Four, Bokuto couldn’t understand why no one was bothering Akaashi. He was tall, but slim. Compared to Bokuto’s bulk, he should have been a prime candidate for bullying.

There must have been a reason. Bokuto just didn’t know what it was.

Bokuto returned to his cell after dinner, as usual. Some of the others wandered the halls for a while, but Bokuto had discovered early on that staying in the cellblock was usually safe. There was always someone in the guard station, so if anyone raised their voice, it was investigated immediately. Bokuto had still fallen victim to some sharp words from his old cellmate, hissed in a low voice that didn’t carry, but it had never been as bad as some of the things that had happened in the halls, with no guards around.

Bokuto was piled up in his bunk, rereading his sister’s letter from the week before, when Akaashi entered the cell. He’d obviously been there already, earlier in the day. His uniforms were in a neat stack by his bed, and a new bag of basic toiletries hung from a hook bolted into the wall. Bokuto had noticed that already, but seeing the evidence and seeing Akaashi himself was entirely different.

Akaashi glanced at him, just briefly, before pacing to his bed. He sat on the edge, looking nowhere in particular, his face a mask of utter indifference. It was the same expression he’d worn all day, every time Bokuto had seen him. Bokuto wondered if he’d been in prison before, because surely that was the only way he could have been so resigned to it.

Bokuto stared pointedly at his letter, although he could no longer focus well enough to read it. The characters blurred in front of his eyes, attention trailing across the cell toward Akaashi, who hadn’t moved. Bokuto waited for him to say something, to engage in the same sort of verbal harassment that Bokuto's past cellmate had practiced every night.

But Akaashi said nothing, and gradually, Bokuto found himself relaxing.

Bokuto battled with his fear and his sense of self-preservation for a solid half hour. It was just before lights out when he finally worked up the nerve to speak. “Umm… Hi.”

Akaashi’s stare wandered away from the wall to fix on Bokuto. He said nothing.

“I’m, umm… I’m Bokuto. Bokuto Koutarou.”

Akaashi didn’t speak, didn’t move.

“I guess… I guess your name is Akashi?”

Akaashi glanced down at the kanji printed across his uniform and then back to Bokuto. “Akaashi.”

“Ak _aaa_ shi,” Bokuto repeated, dragging out the second syllable. “Right. Sorry.” He returned to his letter, but felt like he was still being watched. When he peeked over the edge of the paper, Akaashi had resumed his silent stare-off with the wall.

Akaashi didn’t seem very social. Bokuto probably shouldn’t talk to him. Silence was better than constant mocking, and if Bokuto got on Akaashi’s nerves, that passive personality might shift quickly.

Bokuto knew that, but couldn’t stop himself from asking, “Have you been in prison before?”

“No.”

“Oh,” said Bokuto. “It just seemed like maybe you had, because you already know what to do. Like, going to meals and the yard and stuff. I was really confused when I first got here. I’d never been before, either. It, umm… it’s sort of… terrible.”

Akaashi’s stare found him again. “I’m sure it is, for someone like you. You make yourself an easy target.”

Bokuto blinked, confused. “What do you mean?”

“You’ve spent the entire day cowering as if you’re afraid of your own shadow. If you show fear or weakness, it will be exploited. Your behavior is painting you as a victim.” Akaashi delivered that blow impassively. He tipped over to lie on his back, hands folded neatly over his chest.. 

Bokuto stared at him, floundering. It was a solid minute before he could bring himself to say, “Oh. Umm… okay.”

Akaashi said nothing else, and Bokuto kept his mouth shut, too. The lights went down shortly after, and Bokuto slipped beneath his too-thin sheets, curling up on his side. He only realized he was staring when Akaashi turned his head to the side and caught him.

Bokuto squeezed his eyes shut immediately. He waited until he was certain Akaashi wouldn’t snap at him before he said, hesitantly, “Goodnight, Akaashi.”

There was a silence so long that Bokuto had resigned himself to a lack of response. Then Akaashi said, quietly, “Goodnight, Bokuto-san.”

For the first time since he’d stepped into that prison, Bokuto smiled. 

  
  
  
  
  
The following morning, Bokuto asked Akaashi in a quiet and stuttering voice if he wanted to walk together to breakfast. Akaashi’s expression remained vacant, but he agreed with a slight incline of his head. 

They didn’t talk on the way there. Bokuto walked with his hands in his pockets, sparing an occasional glance at Akaashi beside him. Neither of them spoke as they entered the cafeteria, or stood in line, or approached the Block Four table. But when Bokuto took his usual seat at the end, as far away from everyone else as possible, Akaashi chose the seat across from him.

It was a tiny bit better than being alone, and Bokuto was less tense than usual as he made his way through the questionable meal. They left the cafeteria at the same time, returned to their cell to collect their toiletries, and walked together to their morning showers. Even without a single exchanged word, Bokuto wanted to think that maybe he and Akaashi were almost-friends. 

He was content, until he was midway through his shower with a face full of shampoo. 

“Hangin’ low today, Bokuto.” The voice was sharp, snide, and much too close for Bokuto’s comfort.

He wiped the shampoo out of his eyes with the heel of his hand and whipped around, blinking through the stinging suds. Kobayashi leered at him, his shaved head shining underneath the dim lights. 

“Lettin’ all those hormones build up isn’t good for you,” said Kobayashi, flashing his crooked teeth. “I’ll let you hump my leg like a bitch if you ask real nice.”

Dread swooped in Bokuto’s gut, in tandem with the flashing alarm that blared in his head. He bit his lip and turned back to the water, intending to rinse himself off and get out as quickly as possible.

Of course it couldn’t be that easy.

“Hey, I’m talkin’ to you.” There was a solid shove between Bokuto’s shoulderblades and he flung his hands out to catch himself against the wall. “You deaf _and_ stupid?”

Panic rose like bile in Bokuto’s throat. This had happened before, about a week ago, and he’d ended up in the floor with a bloody nose because he’d refused to speak. He’d been lucky; it could have been much worse. The guards didn’t make a habit of monitoring their shower times. Kobayashi could do all sorts of things to Bokuto before he was caught, and the rest of the Block would say nothing had happened, even if Bokuto reported it. 

Bokuto just wanted to be back in his cell, where it was halfway safe. 

He curled his fists against the wall and clenched his jaw, waiting for the inevitable impact.

“Excuse me.”

Bokuto had only heard about a dozen words in that voice, but he still recognized it immediately. He shook water out of his face as he turned. Akaashi stood nearby with a towel draped around his neck, completely naked yet perfectly at ease. He raised a brow at Kobayashi, his stare flat. 

Kobayashi squinted at him. “You talkin’ to me?”

“Yes. Your behavior is disturbing. Please leave Bokuto-san alone.”

Bokuto blinked, water dripping into his eyes from his sopping wet hair.

“What’s it to you?” said Kobayashi. He glared, but it was a watered down version of his typical aggression, tainted with uncertainty.

“It’s just bothersome, is all.” Akaashi stepped past him, as if this was a typical morning. He hung the towel on the hook jutting from the wall and cranked on the shower beside Bokuto’s, stepping beneath the spray without another word.

There was a long, weighted pause. Bokuto looked between the two of them, waiting for Kobayashi to react. It was a toss up whether he would go for Bokuto or Akaashi first, but neither of them were safe.

Then, with a furrowed brow and a great deal of reluctance, Kobayashi crossed the room and gathered his spare uniform from where he’d tossed it on the edge of a sink. He left, and Bokuto stared after him, baffled. 

He whirled back around, a question on his tongue, but it faded away as he took in the sight of Akaashi with his head tipped back and his eyes closed, water running down his shoulders.

One of those shoulders was covered in ink, dark colors that reached to his elbow and midway down his spine. At a glance, Bokuto picked out the black coils of a snake, each individual scale shaded with a touch of blue. He didn’t have time to pinpoint more details before Akaashi opened his eyes and caught him looking.

“S-sorry,” said Bokuto, immediately turning away. He ducked his head under one more time, to wash out any excess shampoo, before cutting the water off. He wanted to make a quick retreat, but worried Kobayashi would be waiting to ambush him. Instead he took his time towel-drying his hair, burning the minutes away until Akaashi was showered and ready to go. Bokuto followed him out, half-expected Akaashi to snap at him to back off, and was pleased when he didn’t. 

They ended up at one of the picnic tables in the yard, beneath the warmth of the morning sun. Silence stretched between them, but it wasn’t uncomfortable. Bokuto had always felt an urge to fill long silences with words, but Akaashi obviously wasn’t a conversationalist, and Bokuto tried to respect that.

He made it an entire half hour before he blurted, “Are you in the yakuza or something?”

It was the worst conversation starter possible, and Bokuto could have slapped himself for saying it. He started to sputter an apology, but Akaashi didn’t appear offended.

“Yes,” said Akaashi. “I am.”

Bokuto gaped at him. His thoughts had scattered and he took a moment to regroup. “Is that… umm… why you’re here?”

Akaashi stared off across the yard. Block Two was on the basketball court that day, and Bokuto recognized some of the inmates. Iwaizumi was among them. The guys in Block Four talked about Iwaizumi sometimes, always with a grudging sense of respect. Bokuto didn’t know much about him; only that it would be unwise to make an enemy of him.

“In part,” said Akaashi after an extended pause. “I am here for killing someone, although it was by my _Kumicho_ ’s orders, so I suppose the yakuza could be blamed.”

Bokuto knew he was gawking. He felt the slackness in his jaw. He knew, but he couldn’t help it. He’d never heard anyone speak so casually about murder, not even in prison.

Akaashi glanced at him, passive. “Does that offend you?”

Bokuto struggled to scrape up a response. The honest answer should have been yes, and although Bokuto knew honesty wasn’t always the best way to go in here, it should have at least crossed his mind. It was a surprise when he found that there was only one possible answer; for honesty and for self-preservation. “No.” He paused, and added, “We’ve all done some messed up stuff. That’s why we’re here.” He licked his lips and dropped his stare to the weathered table beneath his elbows. His voice went lower. “I killed some people, too.”

He felt Akaashi’s eyes on him, but he didn’t look up. He probably wouldn’t find judgement there, considering what Akaashi had just told him, but it was best not to check.

It was almost an hour later, when it was nearly time to go back inside for lunch, when Akaashi spoke again. “I don’t know how experienced you are with fighting, but I believe you could best Kobayashi, if you landed a solid hit. You are clearly stronger than him. That’s why he feels the need to demean you. If someone of your stature is afraid of him, it increases his status here.”

It took Bokuto a moment to adjust to the unexpected subject. “So you’re saying I should fight him?”

“Not exactly. If you engage him in a fair fight, you’ll lose. Anyone who has been here for a while has some sort of weapon, and you don’t seem like the type.”

Bokuto didn’t say anything. Of course he didn’t have a weapon. 

“The next time he attempts to harass you, I would recommend that you hit him immediately, before he can expect it.” Akaashi rose from the bench and dusted off his pants. “But only if you feel that you could knock him down with one punch. Otherwise you may risk getting stabbed.”

“But… even if I do, won’t he just come after me later?” asked Bokuto. He stood to stumble after Akaashi. 

“It’s possible,” said Akaashi. “But it’s more likely that he’ll leave you alone, so he doesn’t risk the embarrassment of getting knocked down again.”

“You’re saying he’ll be too scared to mess with me anymore?”

Akaashi shrugged one shoulder. 

“Is that why they don’t bother you?” asked Bokuto. “Because they’re scared?”

“Possibly. My crimes made the news. Even the boldest men prefer not to make enemies of the yakuza. Especially not yakuza hitmen.”

Bokuto processed that as they walked to the cafeteria. Akaashi had said he’d killed someone, but a single murder was much different from a career of it. Bokuto wondered how many people Akaashi had killed before he’d been caught. It may have been a small number, but Bokuto doubted it. Now that he knew what Akaashi had done, he could picture it quite clearly. 

Maybe that made Akaashi a terrible person, one that Bokuto should keep his distance from. 

Maybe, but Akaashi had been nicer to him than anyone else in that prison. Bokuto thought the murders were irrelevant, as long as Akaashi was nice. That seemed more important.

 

 

 

The following morning, Kobayashi approached Bokuto in the showers again. He glanced at Akaashi before he spoke, waiting to see if he would be stopped. Akaashi pretended not to notice, and Kobayashi rounded on Bokuto with newfound fervor. 

Bokuto didn’t let Kobayashi finish his threats. He was midway through a sentence when Bokuto turned and hit him so hard across the face that his knuckles split open. Kobayashi crumpled to the floor, and Bokuto resumed his shower, blood dripping between his fingers as he washed off his hand. When he glanced across the room, he caught sight of Akaashi, whose mouth was curled into the barest hint of a smile.

Kobayashi never spoke to Bokuto again. Bokuto was pleased by that, but he was even more pleased that he’d made a friend.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks to Aja for talking over this scene with me a while back! ♡

Akaashi didn’t care for prison, but it could have been worse.

The time didn’t pass as slowly as he’d expected. The first year drizzled by like one long, rainy day instead of 365 individual ones. That wasn’t a substantial comfort, considering he had at least twenty-four more years to go; probably more, because he didn’t expect any self-respecting parole board would grant him release even then. Still, even one year out of the way was progress. He’d resigned himself to serving the time, which made it more palatable. Of course he would prefer to be on the outside, living his life again, but that choice had been taken from him.

But the company here, although loud at times, wasn’t terrible.

“Akaaaashi!” Bokuto bounded into their shared cell, his hair still dripping wet from his morning shower. “You missed it! These two guys were fighting near the cafeteria. Like, _really_ fighting. I think one of them lost a tooth, his mouth was all bloody. Do you think they’ll get in trouble?”

“Perhaps,” said Akaashi. He placed his bag of toiletries in its proper place and adjusted the corner of his bedsheets, which hadn’t been tucked exactly right. He’d gone to the showers at the same time as Bokuto, but he always finished sooner. Bokuto got too caught up socializing with their new blockmates. It was too much interaction for Akaashi, but Bokuto seemed to thrive on it. Ever since some of the older inmates had been cycled out and replaced with new blood, Bokuto had become more social. 

“Konoha said they’ll probably just get thrown in solitary for a couple days, if they even get caught. There were no guards around yet.” Bokuto wiped his forehead on his shoulder, sloughing away some of the excess water. “One of them was Iwaizumi. He was winning, and he looked really mad. The other one was from Block One… I don’t remember his name. He has the weird hair. It’s kinda bleached out but kinda not. Do you know who I mean?”

Akaashi flicked a glance up at Bokuto’s hair, which matched that description perfectly. “Yes, Bokuto-san. I know who you mean.”

“He must be a little bit stupid,” said Bokuto. He tossed his toiletry bag aside and plopped down on his bed, messing up the already-wrinkled sheets. “I wouldn’t mess with Iwaizumi.”

Across the hall, Konoha had returned from the showers, as well. He tidied up his side of the cell – the other bed was vacant, from a recently released inmate – and offered a nod for the pair of them before heading back out of the cellblock. 

Bokuto tilted his head with a frown. “I wonder what solitary is like. Everybody says it’s the worst thing ever but if it’s literally just sitting in a room alone, how bad could it really be?”

For someone like Bokuto, it would be torture, but Akaashi didn’t say that. “I don’t know, Bokuto-san. I have never been.”

Bokuto hummed to himself, lost in thought. After a moment he said, “I’m gonna go by commissary. Want to come?”

“I don’t have commissary money.”

“Well yeah, but I’ll let you get something with mine, if you want,” said Bokuto. “My sister made a deposit a couple days ago, so I can buy a few things.”

Akaashi sighed. Bokuto’s generosity was appreciated, but it also made him vulnerable. If Akaashi wasn’t around to watch him, someone could take advantage of that. “No thank you, Bokuto-san. It’s your money. Only spend it on yourself.”

Bokuto considered that. “Okay. I’ll just pick something out for you, then.” He hopped off the bed and gave Akaashi a broad smile. “I’ll find you in the yard later!”

Of course Bokuto would find him. No matter where Akaashi went, Bokuto always found him.

Akaashi didn’t mind.

He’d expected prison to be full of people like himself, if a little less well-mannered. It was a conglomerate of criminals, after all. They weren’t pleasant people by nature. He hadn’t expected anyone like Bokuto, who was a breath of fresh air compared to the hard stares and barbed wire smiles of the other inmates.

Bokuto didn’t belong there. Akaashi knew what he’d done, but still thought he should have been granted an alternate punishment. Bokuto hadn’t hurt anyone on purpose. He was incapable of malicious intentions.

Without Bokuto to drift along at his side, Akaashi went to the yard alone. He didn’t mind the solitude. It was just strange, on the rare occasions he experienced it. His entire year had been spent in Bokuto’s company. Silence had become a foreign concept.

Akaashi sat at one of the vacant picnic tables. Block Two was a short distance away. One of them – tall with dark, curling hair and an unexpressive face to rival Akaashi’s own – was examining Iwaizumi’s fresh black eye. Iwaizumi was scowling, but that was nothing new. It seemed to be his resting expression.

Akaashi glanced farther back toward the Block One table instead. Semi, the one Bokuto had mentioned by appearance if not by name, was nowhere to be found. Ushijima appeared as calm as ever, which meant it must not have been a matter of pressing importance.

Akaashi chose to mentally put the issue aside. It wasn’t his business, and he had no desire to get caught up in drama between cellblocks. Block Four was the most non-confrontational at the prison, now that the worst of their inmates had been culled out. Kobayashi, who’d been the least pleasant, had been shipped off to max a couple of months after Akaashi’s arrival. No one knew exactly what had happened, and Akaashi wasn’t inclined to tell them. He’d done what was necessary. Kobayashi had been growing bold again, quietly scheming over some sort of vengeful plot against Bokuto. Maybe it would have worked, and maybe not. There was no need to wait it out and see. Akaashi had taken care of it before any plans of revenge could come to fruition.

Akaashi didn’t like making a scene, or inserting himself into anyone else’s business. But as far as he was concerned, Bokuto’s business had become his business, as well.

Akaashi leaned his back against the edge of the picnic table and stretched his legs out in front of him. He would walk a few laps around the path, but only when Bokuto joined him. It had become a routine for them. 

There was a loud cheer from the basketball court. Block Three was in the middle of a game, and Kuroo slapped a high five against Kai’s raised palm. Yamamoto was hunched over nearby, struggling to catch his breath. Akaashi hadn’t seen it, but he guessed Yamamoto had taken an elbow to the gut. That was a common game strategy here, and part of the reason Akaashi always refused to play.

The side door slammed, and Akaashi looked back, expecting to see Bokuto rushing over. Everyone knew the door was too heavy to just let go; the inmates had learned to shut it gently. Bokuto knew, but most of the time he didn’t care.

But the culprit wasn’t Bokuto, or any of the regular inmates. It was a newbie, who’d shied away from the startling impact. He looked around the yard, probably trying to choose the safest spot to while away the afternoon. Akaashi couldn’t see the numbers on his uniform from that distance, but he assumed the new inmate had been assigned to Block Four, considering their empty bed. He hoped they wouldn’t have any issues with him. Their current inmate configuration was peaceful, and Akaashi intended to keep it that way.

The man looked in Akaashi’s direction, still scanning the yard, and recognition shifted into place with the sick crunch of a breaking bone. Akaashi’s entire body went cold. 

The new inmate drifted off to the side, to sit in the grass by himself. Akaashi tracked his movement with his eyes only, the rest of him frozen stiff.

Akaashi had killed a great number of people before he’d been caught, but he’d never even been a suspect on the police’s radar up until his arrest. He was too smart to leave any evidence, too smart to do anything suspicious. He always did his jobs and got out, and there had never been any problems.

The last job had been no exception. Akaashi had done everything right. He knew he’d only been caught because someone had sold him out, and even then, he’d known exactly who that someone was. 

It was the same someone sitting in the grass, looking completely lost in his new surroundings.

Akaashi took a deep breath and held it until his lungs ached. This was a gift and a curse all wrapped up in one complicated tangle. Akaashi had been doing just fine in prison. He’d found his niche here, and was as comfortable as could be expected. Doing something to ruin that, to throw it away with no regard for his future, was stupid.

Akaashi didn’t often do things that were stupid, but this would be an exception. 

Vengeance outweighed comfort, always.

He stood, slowly, still watching the new inmate. He hadn’t noticed Akaashi at all. 

Akaashi peeled his stare away to take a quick scan of the yard, confirming that Bokuto hadn’t yet appeared. This wasn’t something Bokuto needed to see.

But even if he didn’t see it, he would still be affected. Bokuto had only unfurled from his broken shell because Akaashi had been there to guide him. Maybe he would be okay on his own, now that he’d settled in.

Maybe, but Akaashi wasn’t willing to take that chance.

He hesitated, picking through his options. 

The best of those options would be to sit back down and keep his homicidal ideation locked up inside his head. He could pretend the new inmate didn’t exist, and continue living his life. When the time was right, he could get the bastard sent to max, the same way he’d done with Kobayashi. Akaashi’s life wouldn’t be impacted. He could keep the same routine, and stick around to watch out for Bokuto himself.

It was a good option in theory, but it wouldn’t work. That man had taken Akaashi’s freedom, and he would pay that debt with his life. That was non-negotiable, so Akaashi made a fresh mental list of alternate options, some way to keep Bokuto safe if Akaashi wasn’t around.

Because Akaashi was about to be shipped away, the same as he’d had some of the other inmates shipped away.

Ushijima was a key player, but he knew who Akaashi had worked for on the outside, and the two of them hadn’t gotten along. Ushijima only looked out for the men in his own faction of the yakuza. He didn’t waste time on anyone else.

Iwaizumi was strong, physically and mentally. He would have done nearly anything to protect his Block, but that was his hard limit. Block Two was the beginning and end of his protection, and he wouldn’t extend it to anyone else.

No one in Block Four was influential enough to stand up for themselves, much less anyone else. Their Block had only remained tranquil because Akaashi was around to deter any potential aggressors. When he was gone, it was possible Block Four would descend into chaos.

That left only one last option, and though it wouldn’t have been Akaashi’s first choice, it would have to work.

It took Akaashi thirty seconds to select the best course of action. He crossed the yard at a casual pace that belied the icy anger in his blood. Despite the freezing rage, he was calm. Akaashi wasn’t a man who lost his temper, even under the most dire of circumstances. He approached the basketball court and stood a safe distance away, near Kozume, who sat on the grass with his knees pulled up to his chest, watching the game rather than participating. Akaashi inclined his head and Kozume nodded back. They weren’t friends, not really, but they’d developed a mutual respect for one another. Kozume was quiet, smart, and unobtrusive. Akaashi appreciated all of those qualities.

Bokuto was the opposite, and yet Akaashi had learned to care for him, as well.

It didn’t take long for Kuroo to notice Akaashi hovering nearby. He tucked the ball under his arm and wiped his sweaty face, raising a brow in question. 

“May I speak with you, Kuroo-san?” asked Akaashi, ignoring the stares of the other Block Three inmates. He didn’t care if they were watching, or what they thought of him. He had only two concerns, one of them more pressing than the other.

“Sure.” Kuroo tossed the ball to Yamamoto, hard enough that he huffed when it thumped against his chest.

Kuroo left the court and approached Akaashi, clearly a little wary. That was to be expected. Everyone was careful around Akaashi. It was mostly because of his history, which had been passed around as prison gossip. No one wanted to cross the yakuza, and especially not one of their hitmen. 

It was also partly because he was always with Bokuto, and when Bokuto had finally stopped cowering away from everyone who looked in his direction, he’d become a bit intimidating. His size contributed to that, but also his attitude. He was too friendly for prison, and the other inmates interpreted that as a form of insanity. It made him unpredictable, to an outsider. 

Akaashi felt differently.

“I apologize for interrupting your game,” said Akaashi, though he wasn’t sorry at all. His voice was smooth, composed, in perfect opposition to the ice crushing his chest.

“It’s not a big deal,” said Kuroo. He propped one hand on his hip and eyed Akaashi, waiting.

“I need to ask you for a favor, Kuroo-san,” said Akaashi. 

Kuroo blinked, his surprise evident. “What?”

“I know you have no good reason to agree,” said Akaashi, “but I am afraid I must ask, all the same. I will repay you at a later time, when I can. My debts do not go unpaid.”

Kuroo wiped a hand across his sweaty face. “What kind of favor?”

“I need you to keep an eye on Bokuto-san,” said Akaashi. “He will get himself into trouble, without supervision. I know he is not in your cellblock and you have no responsibility toward him, but you are the only one who can successfully protect him.”

“Bokuto?” repeated Kuroo. “I’ve barely even talked to Bokuto. Why does he… wait, where are you going?”

“Maximum security, most likely,” said Akaashi. He didn’t like the thought of it, but it was a price he was willing to pay. The man who’d put him here could not continue to exist, not when he was within Akaashi’s reach. It was an insult, having him breathing the same air, or even breathing at all. Akaashi couldn’t live with it. “I will be there for a while. Keep Bokuto-san out of trouble until I return and I will owe you a substantial favor.”

Kuroo studied him closely, as if trying to find an underlying motive in the request. “What do you mean, keep him out of trouble? What am I supposed to do with him?”

“Bokuto-san needs an ally,” said Akaashi. “One who will deter any spirited inmates from making a target of him.”

“He’s not in my Block.”

“I don’t care. Will you do it or not?”

Kuroo considered, long enough that Akaashi began to grow impatient. The new inmate was still sitting idly in the grass, as if his biggest problem was his incarceration. 

Soon he would have no problems at all.

“Okay,” said Kuroo, after an extended pause. “Yeah, I’ll watch him.”

“If you fail to follow through,” said Akaashi, “I will still repay the debt, but not in a way you will like.”

Kuroo’s brows pulled together, mouth tilting into a frown. He clearly understood the severity of that threat. “I’ll handle it. Not like I’m losing anything, right? I’ve got nothing but time.”

Akaashi inclined his head. “Thank you, Kuroo-san.” He turned away and crossed the yard, steps even, pace steady. 

Kuroo was a criminal too – a murderer, just like Akaashi, only without his finesse – but Akaashi had no choice but to trust his word. Despite the questionable exploits of his fellow inmates, Akaashi knew that a deal made in prison was even more binding than agreements made on the outside. In here, a man’s word was all that he had. If he broke it, the wolves would descend.

Kuroo would do as he said, and Akaashi only hoped it would be enough.

Akaashi dipped a hand into the waistband of his pants and withdrew a meticulously sharpened shank that he’d acquired from Kozume several months before. The new inmate stood just before Akaashi reached him, although he was oblivious to Akaashi’s approach. He dusted off his pants and looked around, maybe planning to move to one of the picnic tables, maybe thinking of returning back to his cell instead.

He didn’t get the chance to make a decision.

Akaashi seized a handful of the man’s hair, yanked his head back, and slashed the shank across his throat. It cut deep, leaving a jagged wound that immediately gushed blood. The man dropped immediately, clawing weakly at his throat, wild eyes landing on Akaashi for only a fleeting second before they went distant. 

Akaashi watched the life bleed out of him, and felt only peace.

That peace was interrupted when a guard slammed him onto the ground, a knee in his spine and rough hands wrenching his arms back.

The guard was shouting as he twisted a pair of cuffs around Akaashi’s wrists. Several people were shouting, but Akaashi didn’t hear the words. He didn’t try. He pressed his cheek against the grass and watched the blood bubble from an eviscerated throat.

Another pair of guards rushed over and knelt by the bleeding inmate. One of them grabbed a limp wrist, checking for a pulse.

Akaashi knew it was too late. He’d cut deeply enough that there wasn’t a sliver of hope. He smiled to himself as he was wrenched to his feet and shoved toward the doors. 

The guard was talking. Maybe to Akaashi, maybe not. He didn’t listen, because it didn’t matter. Nothing mattered, until he was pushed into the prison and caught sight of Bokuto rounding the corner.

Akaashi’s self-satisfaction was punctured. He scuffed to a stop, watching the shift of Bokuto’s face as he took in the handcuffs and the small splash of blood across Akaashi’s shoulder.

“’Kaashi…?” said Bokuto, his voice small, vulnerable.

Akaashi had never felt guilt in his life, but he thought this must be what it was like. It was a hot, deep feeling in his gut, churning unpleasantly.

“Don’t go out in the yard today, Bokuto-san,” said Akaashi. The guard pushed him, but Akaashi only took a few steps before stopping again. “I’ll be gone for a while. I will see you when they bring me back.”

The guard gave a snide remark that Akaashi didn’t hear. Akaashi was shoved again, so hard that he stumbled. 

“But… but I got you some instant ramen from commissary,” said Bokuto. He was a large man, but in that moment, he seemed so small. “I left it for you on your bed. The chicken-flavored kind.”

Akaashi’s guilt morphed into something stronger. “Thank you, Bokuto-san. Just keep it.”

“But Akaashi…”

The guard reached his limit of patience. He seized Akaashi by the arm and dragged him down the hall, away from Bokuto.

Akaashi’s last glimpse of Bokuto was of wide eyes and a crumpled expression that was utterly broken. 

That was all he thought about, during his first few weeks in max, when they threw him in lockdown. He thought of the look on Bokuto’s face, and wondered if he’d made a mistake.

Akaashi had always done whatever was necessary, without hesitation or regret. Maybe, for the first time in his life, another person had been more important than that.

Maybe he’d made the wrong choice.

  
  
  
  
  
It took Kuroo a long few minutes to process what was happening. He stood at the edge of the basketball court, watching the scene with a blend of awe and horror. 

Kuroo had shot a few people, sure, but he’d never seen anything as gruesome as someone having their throat cut wide open.

He felt a little nauseous, but swallowed it down. It wouldn’t leave a good impression among the other inmates, if Kuroo was weak-stomached enough to react badly to something like this.

“Wow,” said Kenma quietly. He hadn’t moved from his spot in the grass. “He really did that.”

“He’s fucking crazy,” said Kuroo. He was impressed, despite himself. He wouldn’t have been bold enough to murder someone in the middle of the yard like that, right in front of the guards. That was the most effective power move that Kuroo had ever seen. 

No one would be stupid enough to mess with Akaashi for the rest of his life, but that wouldn’t do much good here. He would be shipped off to max immediately. 

He would be gone, and Kuroo had been assigned to babysitting duty in his absence.

He didn’t completely understand that. Kuroo didn’t know much about Bokuto or Akaashi, aside from rumors about Akaashi’s past that were almost certainly true. He did know that the two of them having any sort of bond or friendship made no sense whatsoever. 

Akaashi was dragged inside the prison as a handful of guards swarmed his victim. They were probably calling for an ambulance, or the police, or someone with more authority. This sort of incident was far above their pay grade.

Sawamura was off that day, too. He would be furious when he heard about this.

Kuroo sighed and headed toward the door. None of this, Bokuto or Akaashi or even the murder he’d just witnessed, made sense to him. But he’d made a deal, and no matter how long Akaashi was in max, it was inevitable that he would come back. Hardly any inmates spent their entire sentences there. In a few years Akaashi would be deemed a non-threat again, and they would release him back into low security supervision. Maybe it would be two years in the future, or five, or even ten. It didn’t matter to Kuroo. No matter how long it took, he wasn’t going anywhere, and that favor would be no less valuable. Having someone like Akaashi in his debt was well worth the price.

He stepped inside the prison and found Bokuto standing at the window that overlooked the yard. His hands were pressed against the thick glass, eyes wide, jaw slack. Kuroo peered over his shoulder and saw that he had a perfect view of the bloody inmate on the ground outside.

Akaashi was nowhere in sight. He must have been dragged off.

“Hey, man,” said Kuroo, keeping his tone light.

Bokuto didn’t move.

“That’s, uh… pretty brutal out there, huh?” said Kuroo conversationally.

Bokuto was still planted in place, like he’d been turned to stone. “Did… did Akaashi do that?”

Kuroo didn’t know if Bokuto was even aware who he was talking to. He hadn’t looked away from the window. “Yeah. They must’ve had some bad blood. Probably a yakuza thing.”

Finally, with a great deal of effort, Bokuto turned away from the window. His face was pale, eyes impossibly wide. “What’ll happen to him?”

“Akaashi?”

Bokuto nodded, solemn.

“He’ll get taken to max,” said Kuroo with a shrug. “They’ll charge him with murder and he’ll get more time, but it won’t be as bad as it sounds. People don’t care too much about what happens to inmates. It’s not like he killed someone out on the street, you know? They think we barely count as people.”

Bokuto just stared at him. He seemed like a man who’d been emotionally crushed, and Kuroo didn’t understand. Bokuto had always seemed loudly vibrant and easily excitable. It was odd that something like this could bring him down so fast.

Maybe that’s why Akaashi had spoken to Kuroo about him. He’d known this would happen. That didn’t explain why Akaashi even cared, but it wasn’t Kuroo’s place to question it.

“C’mon,” said Kuroo. He draped an arm across Bokuto’s shoulders, which wasn’t easy considering the broadness of them, and guided him away from the window. “Let’s go sneak some hot water out of the cafeteria. I have some tea bags in my cell, we can make some.”

Bokuto walked along without argument, head down, as if he was being herded. “I’m not supposed to go in any other cellblocks. I’ll get in trouble.”

“Nah, it’ll be fine,” said Kuroo. “As long as we don’t bother the guards, they don’t care. Trust me.”

Although Bokuto had absolutely no reason to do so, although it was a bad idea to trust anyone in that godforsaken prison, Bokuto nodded, and seemed to wilt just a little bit more. “Okay.”

Kuroo amended his prior assessment of the situation. This wasn’t babysitting. It was more like providing intensive emotional support to someone who badly needed a metaphorical crutch. 

That was fine. Kuroo could do it. Bokuto didn’t seem terrible, and even if he was, it would be worth dealing with him to stay on Akaashi’s good side. 

Kuroo would keep Bokuto out of trouble, as Akaashi had asked. He would do it, and do it well, and use his future favor wisely.

**Author's Note:**

> The second half will be about the Kuroo debacle. I'll post the rest sometime this weekend!


End file.
